


The Music Man

by EJ (girlwitham4carbine)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Music AU, ensemble au?, here you go, i have no idea how to describe this, i started this last year jesus christ, the first part of this has been sitting in my creative oven for over a year i hope you like it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4504257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwitham4carbine/pseuds/EJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>music<br/>\ˈmyü-zik\ n: the art of arranging tones in an orderly sequence so as to produce a unified and continuous composition</p><p>To Ray Narvaez Jr., music is simply his job.</p><p>To Joel Heyman, music is his passion - an obsession, a great love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Music Man

**Author's Note:**

> I started this back in April, found it again and tried to finish it. I found it again in July. Of the next year. Yeesh.  
> The original note with this fic was “I wanted to write a fic about how much music is able to say without any words at all.”  
> Enjoy.
> 
> cross posted on tumblr here: http://ejraptor.tumblr.com/post/125908720644/the-music-man-movement-i

 

> music
> 
> \ˈmyü-zik\ n: the art of arranging tones in an orderly sequence so as to produce a unified and continuous composition

That can’t be it, right?

Because music is so much more than that. It isn’t just putting noises together to sound good- it's putting noises together so they can be shared. A story, an idea, feelings that can’t be described in words. Stories of lives and memories. Ideas of culture and history. Feelings of happiness and sorrow. Music becomes life in itself this way, doing what spoken and  written word are unable to. And for many, music is their life. Because they recognize its power and beauty, and hope to make something like that themselves.

But to Ray Narvaez Jr., music is simply his job. He played his instrument, memorized countless pieces and techniques, practiced his fingerings against his thigh while on an odd job, to survive. This didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the feeling of the small keys against his fingers and the sting on his lips after a challenging, yet satisfying number. But he did so while going through the motions, showing up to audition after audition, cheap gig after cheap gig, and eventually, street corner after street corner. The fire that ignited in his spirit when he first played his trumpet had faded to embers, probably some time during college when he realized he couldn’t exactly afford to follow his dreams anymore.

So he left, taking his trumpet and dinosaur of a laptop with him as he said goodbye the familiar streets of New York City. A friend in Jersey told him he might have better luck in some cities down south. (‘Austin seems right up your alley, and probably a lot less expensive than New York.’)

He pocketed that advice, and the next morning, Ray watched the country slowly glide by, leaning against the cool window of a cheap coach bus and dreaming of something bigger.

To Joel Heyman music is his passion - an obsession, a great love.

As a composer, he felt he had a power when it came to music. The power to create works of art that put emotions and images within the minds of his listeners. While any musician could bring his creations to life, it was his hand who poised his pen and whose mind supplied its rhythms and phrases. If he succeeded in making what he deemed a masterpiece, people would hear (and see within themselves) exactly what he heard and saw, felt. The intricate lines and melodies would fly from the page into the hearts of his audience, and only then could he truly feel like he had succeeded.

But he couldn’t do it alone, and he envied those musicians who could masterfully play his compositions. So he tested them to see if they were up for the challenge.

Ray was honestly surprised he had made it through. The audition process was hell, but the music was just hard enough to give him a challenge. The judge - he introduced himself as the conductor as well as composer of all the music he’d been given to prepare- had been surprised by his performance. Ray could admit it; on the outside, he certainly didn’t look like much of a professional musician (young and skinny, wearing an oversized dress shirt he pulled out of his closet in an attempt to look decent). But he congratulated him, only noting two miniscule mistakes in his tone before shoving him a calendar and sending him on his way.

There had been an open audition to pretty much any and all musicians in the Austin area. It was a true wind ensemble, with at least one of every concert instrument and no strings to be seen. Ray walked into the first rehearsal with a practiced pushing down of his nerves, taking his place at the end of the trumpet line and right next to the lone euphonium in the middle of the back row. The girl sitting there turned and smiled at him, her curly hair bouncing with the motion.

"How'd looking over the music go? This guy sure is working our asses off." She snarked, making Ray laugh a little as he finished retrieving his trumpet. They shared a few more words as Ray warmed up, familiar scales running across his fingers and lips. The sound was beautiful in their practice space, one of the smaller Austin concert halls west of downtown. At least this guy knew how to pick his venues. Before Ray could even begin running through his scales for the second time, the door to the audience burst open, and in rushed a flurry of dark hair and papers.

The conductor looked like a mess; the same flurry of hair strewn every which way, his v-neck falling a little too low on his chest, and the toothy smile he had plastered on looking far too jovial to be professional. The ensemble fell to a mum and the man cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Hello everyone, I’m happy you could all make it today. As you know from the audition process, my name is Joel Heyman, the director of this ensemble and the composer of the suite we will be performing. I’ve been told I don’t look it, but I am the tender age of 43. I have been writing music since my childhood, however I can’t play an instrument to save my life. I tried the flute once but um.. Let’s just say I didn’t sound too hot."

There were a few chuckles from the ensemble, and a small smile was on the composer’s face in an instant.

“I wasn’t discouraged by the fact I couldn’t play any of the pieces I’d written, and in fact, I think that’s what pushed me to go even further. I love music, and I’m thankful that I’m able to create it. But I couldn’t do it without musicians like you.”

He looked out into the crowd, making eye contact with some of the musicians to emphasize his point before continuing on.

"You all are here, not because of your ability, but because of the spark I saw in your eyes when you auditioned. The thing that said how much you loved playing and creating art with that piece of wood or metal in your hands."

Ray frowned at that, deflating slightly. The euphonium player shot him a look out of the corner of her eye, but the conductor continued talking before she could ask him anything.

"Now, with that cheese fest out of the way.. Let's get started."

///

Ray waited for the rest of the ensemble to slowly trickle out before he stood and approached the front of the stage, trying to avoid knocking over the mass of chairs and stands in his way. Joel was still on his conductor’s perch, a small elevated square so even the furthest rows would be able to see his cues (Ray remembered standing on them in high school, looking out over the empty chairs in the close of a band room. It made him feel like more than just a trumpet player). Joel looked even more frazzled up close, working on shuffling his score and notes back into his large folder. He didn’t look up as Ray approached, so the musician cleared his throat.

"Excuse me? Uh, Joel?"

The man looked up, face bearing a look of surprise. He quickly finished with his papers, tucking the folder and his baton bag under his arm before turning to Ray.

"Ah yes, Ray was it? Were you having trouble understanding one of my notes or directions, or needed to know rehearsal times again?"

"No, it's not that."

"Is it my conducting? Fuck, I know I move a little erratically, I’ll try to-”

"I don't think I deserve to be here."

Oh shit, I didn’t mean to say it like that. Ray looked up in horror, his entire body tensing up while he watched Joel’s reaction. The older man’s eyes widened in surprise, the subtle motion stretching the crow’s feet above them. Ray couldn’t believe that this man was a well-to-do composer; he looked so young and.. vibrant, despite his obvious nerves. It showed in the little things, in the marks around his eyes and the expert way his hands had directed them.

Joel was quiet for a more few moments before his gaze went back to neutral. "I see.. And why is that?"

Ray had already dug himself into a hole, he might as well finish digging his grave."I don't see music how you do. I see it as my job, how I pay my bills and manage to survive day by day. I haven't seen it as art, like you do, for a long time."

Joel looked thoughtful, but not judging. He readjusted his bag and folder again before addressing the younger man. "Look Ray.. Why did you pick up that trumpet? Yeah, it was shiny and you were a 4th grader. But why did you keep picking it up?”

The sound, the rhythms I can create off the top of my head, the burn of my lips and throat and cheeks when I play too long, too hard. But he couldn’t say any of those things. He just couldn't say a damn word.

Joel sighed at the lack of response. “It's my job too, you know. If I don't compose a piece people like, I don't make money. Things get tighter, and I need to schedule more clinics and go judge snot nosed kids at grade school festivals. I don’t hate helping people get better. But c'mon, it’s kids we’re talking about.”

This got a small snort out of Ray, and Joel’s face lit up with a small smile.

“Why don’t we go get some coffee? There should be a store around here still open, and it will be a little easier to talk there. Compared to this giant auditorium.”

///

It was pleasant. More than pleasant, considering how nerve wracking the rehearsal had been after Joel's welcome speech. The small cafe wasn't too crowded and the bitter coffee was bogged down with enough cream and sugar to actually be tasty for once. Ray sipped at the remnants of his drink, listening to Joel's story about one of his misadventures when he was a high school teacher.

"It didn't last long, thank god. Why do high schoolers have so much drama?? Why do you need to worry about who’s dating who, do your fucking homework."

Ray laughed, loud staccato sounds coming from his mouth. They had a nice rhythm to them, just on the edge of the beat. Joel loved it.

“It’s the generation gap, I swear.”

“We have a generation gap, kid.”

The younger scoffed at that, sending Joel a half-willed glare.

“I’ll have you know that I am a fully functioning tax paying member of society, Mr. Heyman.”

“I don’t doubt that, Mr. Narvaez.”

And then he shot Ray a toothy smile, shiny and pearly white just like the keys of a piano. Ray loved it.

As the sky turned from the bright orange of sunset to the deep, deep purple of night, the two men agree to “do this again sometimes”. That phrase coupled with another of Joel’s dazzling smiles nearly sent Ray into a frenzy, the butterflies in his stomach churning and rattling against his stomach as if they wanted to escape. But he manages to settle them down, voicing his agreement and holding out his phone to exchange numbers with the other man. They exit the cafe, stopping on the sidewalk before parting ways.

“I’d better see you at rehearsal next week, kid.”

“We’ll see about that, old man.”

 


End file.
